Hard as Nails
by Selective scifi junkie
Summary: Those who live by the sword die by the sword. If your past is violence, violence will dog your steps until the day you die. In the forests of British Columbia, a certain lumberjack is walking alone and a hired gun is waiting for him. The rating is for blood and (it being Wolverine) a bit of swearing, will be a four chapter fic, all written as of 19/4/17/.
1. Chapter 1

**Hard as Nails**

 **Summary: Those who live by the sword die by the sword. If your past is violence, violence will dog your steps until the day you die, even to the forests of British Columbia, where a certain lumberjack is walking alone.**

 **Set: Approximately 1983, so while Logan is living as a civilian, and BEFORE he takes the Adamantium. Ignores the revisions of Days of Future Past (if any would affect this)**

 **Spoilers: X-men Origins: Wolverine, X-men (in so far as some of Wolverine's power is demonstrated), Captain America: Civil War.**

 **PLEASE NOTE: I am spoiler sensitive to several X-men films. I've only seen the two that this fic spoils.**

 **Rating: T for blood and cruelty (not at the same time)**

 **I would like to thank my Beta reader, who doesn't have a fanfic profile, but is RichardMashyman on twitter.**

* * *

Logan strode out across the frozen ground, breath hanging in the air before him, spray can in his hand. The trees here were a nice size. Big enough that they felt worth taking, not so big that they held on like bastards and were a danger to every man in the crew, except him.

They'd be felling here tomorrow. He'd been sent out to scope it a bit and mark some trees up. Nobody else liked this job; scared of bears, wolves, cold… whatever. The other lumberjacks were happy to leave him to it. He knew they thought he was a weirdo, a freak, for not really mixing with them, for smoking cigars not cigarettes, for liking being out in the wilds on his own... They didn't know the half of it.

He lowered his spray can. What was that? Something had moved behind him. He turned.

Tearing, purple pain ripped across his neck. Red mist hung in the air in front of him. Hot blood poured out down his shirt and over the snow.

He gasped and felt blood course in to his chest. Shit. His airway was gone. His head was spinning. He staggered, grabbing at his severed jugular. What the hell? He couldn't see anyone, but he couldn't see much. Only a bullet. Only a bullet, it would clear. He coughed violently. Blood came up in to his mouth. He gasped and coughed again. His ears were ringing. Where was the shooter?

The second shot hit him.

He felt it shuttle between his ribs as he fell backwards in to the snow. He felt it tear the side of his heart off. It wouldn't kill him. The inside of his chest felt horribly still for a moment, then his heart started to beat again. He lay on the ground, gasping, as the tissue of his chest started to push the lump of metal clear.

These were not dumb little parabellum rounds. These were massive, heavy, sniper bolts, fired from something at least semi-automatic. So the shooter could be as much as a mile away. Probably less than that. The trees'd block your shots after a couple of hundred yards. But even at a couple of hundred yards, if he got up the second his chest closed up, saw the man shooting him right away and ran at him, he could take ten or twenty of those shots in that time. He didn't want to take one more. A headshot from a rifle that powerful might knock him out. He did not want to be caught.

He should wait, keep still. Snipers usually came to check their kills, or photograph them. To do that, he'd have to come closer, nearer to Logan's claws. That would give Logan the opportunity to gain the initiative. He tried to keep his breathing as shallow and slow as possible. He knew he needed oxygen to heal, but he also needed not to be shot again.

Whoever this bastard was he was patient. It felt like over a quarter of an hour, lying there in the snow, chest and neck still prickling and burning with healing, waiting for the sniper. Eventually, he heard footsteps approaching. Even now, the assassin came slowly. Logan made his breathing even shallower. Maybe the shooter had some idea of what he'd been sent to kill. But obviously not that much of one. He hadn't kept on shooting as he'd approached.

The danger was that the sniper saw that Logan's neck and chest were all there before Logan got the drop on him. Why had he had to fall lying flat on his back? He should have fallen on to his side, back to the sniper.

Something hard pressed in to Logan's leg.

Logan leapt to his feet, roaring, grabbing hold of the thing that had been poking him. Branch, not the rifle. Damn it, where was the rifle? A man stood before him, stepping back and drawing two pistols. The rifle was on his back. Not too big a risk of getting shot with it then. A mask covered everything below the sniper's eyes, and his eyes were covered with black camo paint. A panda fighting wolverine. Great. Why not just call the whole zoo?

The sniper hadn't flinched. He'd gone up to poke a man he'd shot in the heart, the man had jumped up and the sniper hadn't flinched. Logan pushed his claws out as the first pair of pistol shots hit him. They _were_ dumb little parabellum rounds. They didn't even make his heart skip. They dug in to his chest and burned and smarted, but they didn't slow him down. The faster he ended this, the better. He threw a punch at the sniper's chest with his right hand. The sniper intercepted with his left forarm. Logan had expected the sniper to scream and recoil, he'd expected to feel his claws sink in to flesh. But instead he felt the grating of metal jarring against him. Armour. There had to be a soft bit somewhere. Logan threw his left hand punch for the man's chest. The man twisted back and put a shot in to Logan's leg. Even if it didn't stop him, it hurt. Logan yanked his right hand free of the sniper's left, tearing the sniper's sleeve. Metal. Right down to the fingers, all of the sniper's left arm was covered in metal.

The sniper put another bullet in to Logan's chest. Still a dumb little parabellum round. Logan drove his right fist towards the sniper's chest. Sheer force knocked the sniper back, but the angle wasn't good and the sniper's jacket felt like Kevlar or something. There had to be a soft bit somewhere. He'd go straight through the eyes if he had to. The sniper grabbed his right wrist. Logan pulled back. Hell, that man's grip was strong. He punched the man higher up in the arm with his free hand, but that was metal too. The sniper pulled inwards and grabbed for Logan's neck. Logan threw his head back, his left hand was stuck on – no, in - stuck in the sniper's arm. And it wasn't bleeding. There had to be a soft bit somewhere. He went lower. He drove his right hand in to the sniper's guts, just below the edge of the jacket.

The sniper went still, his eyes widened. Warm blood ran over Logan's hand. The sniper let go of him and fell to his knees. It was over. Logan pulled his claws back, stooped, and picked the sniper up by the collar.

"Go tell whoever sent you that the next one comes back in bits."

The sniper said nothing. He hadn't even yelled when he'd taken claws in his guts. This was creepy. He had a mutant yelling in to his face and he didn't even look scared. Logan threw the sniper to the ground. "Don't get up." The sniper just lay where he'd fallen. "Punk."

Logan turned and walked away.

* * *

 **When did you realise who the sniper was?**

 **Please review, but please remember: I have only seen two X-men films!**

 **I want to know what you think, but I also want to be surprised by X-men Last Stand and Logan**


	2. Chapter 2

**This chapter is inspired by Elliot Rosewater's magnificent fic 'Abstraction'. It uses a very similar narrative form for The Winter Soldier and I've always loved it, so I'm using it here. If you are interested in The Winter Soldier's storyline, go and read Abstraction.**

 **I would also like to thank my faithful beta, CaptainArwenPond221B, for looking this chapter over for me**

* * *

TARGET SIGHTED

 _Acknowledged. Action: Check rifle._

RIFLE APPEARS FUNCTIONAL

 _Action: Assume Rifle to be functional. Take aim. Kill-shot required._

AIM AQUIRED

 _Action: Fire on target._

TARGET MOVED

TARGET HIT: LATERAL AND VENTERAL NECK OBLITERATED. SUBOPTIMAL SHOT

TARGET BLEEDING.

TARGET NOT DOWN

/what?/

TARGET NOT DOWN

/I heard you, but… what?/

 _Acknowledged. Action: Repeat shot. Immediately._

TARGET HIT: FOURTH INTERCOSTAL SPACE, LEFT.

TARGET DOWN.

 _Action: Approach target and confirm kill._

/no./

 _Action: Approach target and confirm kill._

/no. I blew half his neck off and he didn't go down. I'm waiting to see if he gets up/

 _Action: Approach target and confirm kill._

/fine. Target still likely to be dangerous/

 _Action: Wait._

/better/

,

TIME ELAPSED: TEN MINUTES. TARGET NOT RECOVERED.

 _Action: Approach target and confirm kill._

/carefully/

 _Action: Use implement to check for reflexes_

WARNING: TARGET ACTIVE

WARNING: TARGET ACTIVE

WARNING: TARGET ACTIVE

/how the..?/

WARNING: TARGET YELLING

 _Action: Arm self. Arm self now._

 _Action: Fire on target_

 _Action: Activate distress beacon_

WARNING: TARGET APPEARS UNAFFECTED BY PISTOL SHOTS

/problem. Major problem/

WARNING: TARGET ATTACKING

WARNING: TARGET HAS REALLY BIG CLAWS

/this is really not looking up/

 _Action: Intercept with prosthesis_

BLOCK EFFECTIVE

WARNING: DAMAGE TO PROSTHESIS

/that was the point/

WARNING: SECOND ATTACK

 _Action: Dodge_

DODGE SUCCESSFUL.

 _Action: Fire on target_

WARNING: PISTOL SHOTS INEFFECTIVE

GRAPPLE RELEASED

 _Action: Fire on target._

WARNING: PISTOL SHOTS INEFFECTIVE.

/are you actually surprised at this point?/

WARNING: TARGET PUNCHING

KEVLAR EFFECTIVE

 _Action: Engage target's lead hand with prosthesis_

TARGET ATTEMPTING TO BREAK GRIP

TARGET FAILED TO BREAK GRIP

WARNING: TARGET ATTACKING PROSTHESIS

WARNING: DAMAGE TO PROSTHESIS

 _Grip of prosthesis appears effective. Action: Attempt to grip target's neck_

TARGET DODGED

TARGET ATTACKING

/no no no!/

WARNING: SEVERE ABDOMINAL DAMAGE

WARNING: HAEMORRHAGE

WARNING: BLOOD PRESSURE COLLAPSE IMINENT

WARNING: MISSION FAILURE IMINENT

WARNING: ASSET SHUTDOWN WITHIN 24 HOURS WITHOUT MEDICAL AID

WARNING: MISSION FAILURE IMINENT

WARNING: FUNCTIONAL UNIT (LEGS) NOT RESPONDING

WARNING: MISSION FAILURE IMINENT

WARNING: MISSION FAILURE IMINENT

 _Action: Avoid mission failure. Continue to attack target._

/are you mad? We give up, we get beaten, we keep going, we get killed. There's no way we can take this guy, not now/

 _Action: Nil._

WARNING: TARGET RE-ENGAGING

/oh come on. We're not a threat to you now/

WARNING: ASSET TERMINATION LIKELY

Target: "Go tell whoever sent you that the next one comes back in bits."

 _Action: Nil_

WARNING: FALLING

Target: "Don't get up"

 _Action: Comply_

Target: "Punk"

PUNK: COMMAND. RESPONSE: JERK

 _Error: Punk-Jerk subroutine not found._


	3. Chapter 3

**This chapter was proofread by (at sign) RichardMashyman**

* * *

Logan got back to the other lumberjacks half an hour later, covered in blood and snow, and with a lot of bullet holes in his clothes. He'd made some attempt to wash the blood off, but it was pointless. He gave his supervisor some bull about having had the mother of all nosebleeds and gone dizzy. The supervisor believed him, which surprised Logan, and got one of the other guys to drop him home. He kept up the invalid act as best he could, leaned against the car door, kept his eyes half-shut as though he actually felt faint. He didn't, but his chest was still burning from that huge sniper bolt. His neck wasn't so bad.

The tricky bit would be keeping this from Kayla. He did not want her to worry about this and she'd probably never need to know. It would take some crazy sort of assassin to actually do him any damage, and he'd meant what he'd said. He would kill the next one, if one came. The moment Jack dropped him off, he stripped and threw all his clothes in the outside bin. He'd never get all the blood out. If he left them lying around, Kayla would see them. He padded through the house and ran himself a bath, trying not to leave blood anywhere. The blood that was on him was dry now, so it wasn't too hard.

He looked down at himself. His hands were fine, they were almost always the first thing to heal, but punching the metal had hurt. He'd taken… two sniper bolts, one in the neck and one in the chest, and what? Three pistol bullets? Four? He wasn't even sure where they'd hit him now, but there was more blood on his leg than the shots higher up his body could explain. He tilted his chin up and looked at his neck in the mirror. Nothing. There never was. The hair on his neck wasn't quite the same on both sides, his healing factor almost seemed to struggle with that more than anything else, but Kayla would need very sharp eyes to see that. He looked down at his chest. There was nothing to see, but it wasn't comfortable. It didn't feel right, particularly if he breathed deeply. Warm water often helped. He got in the bath.

What troubled him was that he didn't know who'd sent the assassin. He'd fought four major wars, he probably had one of the highest kill-counts of anyone alive, except for the creators of the atom bombs and possibly Victor. There was no shortage of people who might want him dead. He closed his eyes and tried to recall what sort of rifle the sniper had had. He'd only seen it on the man's back, so he'd not had a good look at it. The pistols had just been 9ml semis, they weren't difficult to get hold of. If they'd lived in the US, Kayla could probably have got one.

Stryker? Maybe. But he'd have expected Stryker to ask him, or try to order him, back before he tried to kill him, and Stryker would have known that a sniper rifle wouldn't get the job done. No, whoever had tried to kill him either hadn't known what they were up against or hadn't told the hired gun. That didn't sound like Stryker. And Stryker would have sent Zero. Zero would have got him in the head, first time, and known to keep shooting him.

Logan sighed – and flinched. He wasn't likely to figure this out now. He should have stayed with the sniper, made him talk. He'd done it enough times before. He'd just been too shocked to think straight. It was different if you were in a war zone. He'd got out of bed this morning expecting to be taking out trees, not snipers. If another one turned up, he'd drag them off and make them tell him who'd sent them.

,

By the time he heard Kayla's car, he was cleaning the bath. By the time she got to the front door, he'd got all the blood off the bath, changed, and settled down on the couch as though he'd been there a while.

"I went to the lumberyard, you weren't there." She said. He opened his mouth to… apologise or something. "They said you were sick."

"I was, or I am. I don't know."

"That's not like you." She hung her coat up and walked over to him. "I've been with you… three and a half years? And I can't remember you ever being sick before. You're tough as nails."

Logan shrugged. "Maybe you brought something home from one of your kids."

Kayla smiled. She called her class 'plague rats' sometimes. "Maybe." She put a hand on his forehead. "You don't feel feverish. Have you eaten."

He shook his head. "I probably should, but…"

"Don't worry. I'll sort something out."

He looked up at her. "Thanks."

"Don't worry. I'm sure you'd do the same for me."

Logan took a breath. And in that moment, he almost told her everything. Being shot from behind with something nearly heavy enough to blow his head off, feeling his heart come to bits, then lying in the snow, waiting for another blow to fall… He shook his head. She did not need to know.


	4. Chapter 4

**This chapter was proofread by both aforementioned proofreaders.**

 **Thank you for sticking with me this far, and please let me know what you think.**

* * *

Men came to find The Soldier about an hour later. The Soldier didn't rise on command, which earned him a taser shot, but he didn't respond to that either. It wasn't until they came to pull the taser darts out of him that they saw the wounds on his abdomen. Three of them, about an inch long and an inch and a half apart. They bundled the soldier in to their truck and drove away, noting the soldier's tracks towards the place, somebody else's coming and going and the massive bloodstains on the snow.

Back at base, a medic pushed adrenaline and fluids in to the soldier until he woke up enough to speak.

"Is he dead?" A man in a suit asked. "That's all I need to know. Is James Howlett dead?"

"Was there a body?" The older man asked, silencing the other.

"No sir." One of the retrieval crew said. "Two men had been there by the look of the prints, lot of blood on the ground, then one man walked away."

"He got away?" The man in a suit asked. "You told me he was the best sniper for hire on the planet. You said he was the best at what he-"

"Soldier." The older man cut across the other again. The Soldier looked up, paler even than usual. He'd taken a battering this time, there was no doubt of that. "Mission report."

"Mission was to eliminate James Howlett, alias 'Logan'. Mission initiated by primary handler. Mission status: failed."

The older man slapped The Soldier across the face, hard enough that his head snapped backwards. "Mission failure." He repeated.

"Mission failure." The Soldier repeated. The older man slapped him again, then again across the wounds in his abdomen. The soldier retched, but didn't cry out.

"He got away!" The man in a suit shouted.

"Full report." The older man said loudly. "I must be permitted to do this my way. The Soldier has a very strict conditioning regimen. Deviating from it could cause him to become dangerous to his handlers. Soldier, full report."

The Soldier's voice was blank. Good. If The Soldier started showing emotion, he had to be frozen, and quickly. "Setup for strike as intended. Position attained and held, rifle found to be functional. Target sighted, first shot hit. Damage to target's neck estimated 40%."

"Hold." The older man said to the soldier, then turned to the man in the suit. "Do you know what estimated damage of 40% to the neck means?" The man in the suit didn't reply. "It means that about 40% of the target's neck was destroyed. I can't imagine how the target survived that." The man in the suit didn't reply. For a long moment, the two men stared at each other. "Soldier continue."

"Target did not go down. Second shot fired immediately. Cardiac strike very likely. Target downed."

"Hold." The older man said. He looked back at the man in the suit. "Is there anything you would like to tell us?" There was another very long silence. "No? Then Soldier, continue."

"Approach to target made after ten minutes. On approach, target rose and attacked. Pistol shots ineffective. Asset sustained damage. Unit failure. Target escaped. Mission failed."

The old man slapped The Soldier again. A patch on the side of The Soldier's face was turning red. "How was this damage sustained?" The old man asked, poking the soldier's scabbing wounds.

"Target produced three blades from each hand or concealed device. Damage to the asset was from punches from augmented hands."

"Three of them." The older man said. "Three sharp points on a fist, the target is Canadian, the target survives not only a sniper shot that obliterates almost half his neck, but one seconds later that hits his heart, and I cannot help but wonder, Mister Nguyen, what you set my Soldier on."

"I told you all you needed to know. Your assassin failed. We're done here."

"No." The older man said. "No, we are not. You said the target in question was a military veteran, working as a lumberjack. You neglected to mention, unless I am mistaken, that the target was the Team X mutant code named Wolverine. My Soldier tried his best. He hit that animal twice, both times it should have killed him outright. Then he went to confirm his kill, as we taught him to do, and found himself facing a berserk mutant with claws and a regenerative capacity so great that no close-range weapon in The Soldier's arsenal would have a hope of even staggering him. I am astounded that you asked for a sniper to kill that… thing. You would need something in the order of a tactical nuclear warhead, at least."

"We're done here. Since the mission failed, I will offer you ten percent of the agreed price."

"No." The older man said. "You lied, you exposed my Soldier to that beast of a mutant at close quarters, and The Soldier landed two kill shots on his target. And we must now pay for The Soldier's medical treatment. You owe us the full fee."

"Now listen-"

"If we do not receive the full fee, The Soldier will see you again, though you may not see him."

The man in the suit paled, nodded once and left. The old man sighed and picked up an electric goad.

"Soldier, acknowledge handler." The Soldier came, like a good dog, and knelt at the old man's feet. He knew what was coming, surely he did by now, but he didn't flinch. He didn't try to stop it. He was a good Soldier. Even if the mission failure hadn't been his fault, he had to think it was. He had to suffer for it. He had to be afraid to fail. "Soldier, define mission status."

"Mission failed."

The old man turned the goad on.

* * *

 **Fin**

 **Thank you for reading**

 **Please review**


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